Lifeguard's Watch
by Anniarchy
Summary: Sinamoi takes his lifeguard job very seriously. A zombie apocalypse just puts him permanently on the clock.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** _I don't own any characters from the Dead Island game, except for made up characters I threw in here willy nilly. I also started this fanfic because I have a guilty crush on Sinamoi and found it criminal to see little next to no fanfics here on the site having anything involving him in it. So I'll be doing a fanfic revolving around him based off of what I've learned about him within the game as well as what I've read from the game's wikia page. Hope you all enjoy!_

 **Chapter One:** **"Lifeguard"**

John Sinamoi took his job as a lifeguard very seriously. Not to the killjoy extent, just his duty as a lifeguard. Help anyone and everyone in any way possible. Since he was a boy, John loved helping people. Medics were miracle-workers, so for a little while, he wanted to work in the medical field. He didn't care what profession; dermatologist, optometrist, urologist, gynecologist, pediatrician, he didn't care. Anything. But when he went to the beach with his mom, a man in the water was too exhausted to swim all the way to shore, and someone called out for help when they saw a seemingly lifeless body float about in the water. John soon saw someone in red on the beach rushing out into the water, swimming out to the body and hauling them back to shore. But this person in red didn't stop there. They were breathing life into the body, and the man woke back up, coughing but alive.

"Mommy! Who is that?", he cried out, tugging on her skirt.

"That's the lifeguard, John. He's here to help people who are in trouble in the water."

That lifeguard amazed him. That was help in direct action right before his eyes. And there didn't seem to be many. In fact, there was just the one. Little John knew the world needed more lifeguards, so he made his decision to become one from that day onward.

Classes, certification, all of this was of course necessary, but he went the extra mile. He took professional first-aid courses beyond what was recommended for the average lifeguard. He wanted to be able to give as much help as he could.

You could say it's the best job in the world to him. But nothing was perfect. He loved helping, but that doesn't excuse for his intolerance for stupidity.

We're not talking about the mistake of someone forgetting their inhaler in their bungalow while going out to the beach. That's a simple, human mistake. What John identifies as "stupidity" are, for example, irresponsible parents who shouldn't have been allowed to breed.

The other day, a couple were letting their three-year-old run wild around one the pools he was stationed at. Neither of them told the tyke to slow down, stop running, or anything like that. All they did was coo at how cute he was, and asking other people pretty much for praise without directly saying those words while other people were telling the kid to slow down as he weaved around people, pushing a couple of kids in the process. The moment John heard the parents speak like this, he knew that child was about to get into trouble. With futile, he gently halts the boy and tells him, "'Ey, Tiger. You oughta slow down and watch yourself. The tiles are wet and slippery. Don't want you to fall and crack your head open, do we?"

The crotch fruit merely looked at him, unable to really comprehend that someone was telling him to stop doing something because he was too distracted by the tattoos, mainly the one on his face. The toddler sucked on however many fingers he could jam into his mouth. Luckily Sinamoi could avoid actively cringing at the thought that this kid's slobbery hands are probably touching other people's stuff. But he saw the boy's mother walk briskly up to him.

"Don't you touch my son!", she practically barked at him.

John stood up fully, nearly towering over her, "M'mam, other people are telling him to stop and he's not listening. I had to get his attention somehow. He could slip and hurt himself."

"Who do you think you are?", she started to pull her son behind her.

John scoffed, "I'm the lifeguard. I figured the red and white insignia would give that way. Just because you don't seem to care for the well-being of your son while he goes on his mini-rampage doesn't mean the rest of us have to settle for it. There are other kids here he nearly knocked over, a couple of them even younger than he is!"

"Don't _touch_ my son!"

"And if he were to drown because you weren't paying attention?"

The mother said nothing and carried her son away, telling her husband to leave with her for another location. The lifeguard sighed and folded his arms, his patience wearing thin. _Bloody American tourists_ , he thought. Of course, not all were bad. A handful of them were enjoyable to talk to, some even helpful when he was needed. But so many of the tourists; he'd never seen such entitlement, especially from parents taking their young children on a vacation that they'll most likely forget. Anytime he sees American parents, he always tries to keep an extra eye out for their children.

There was a staff meeting two days later to discuss proceedings and stations regarding the Sam B concert coming up. This meant that staff for that night has to work different, which would include some lifeguards to be on standby for possible security duty. John was disappointed in that, considering it's security's job to do security, not the lifeguard's job. Then again, the company that owns the resort wants to be cheap and not pay for more employees to be on the clock at that time, especially since many of them were getting overpay for the hours they'd end up working.

The bungalow areas were pretty crowded, as were the pools, so John was paying extra close attention to everyone. This is one of those times his colleagues would call him an over-achiever. Unlike him, some of the other lifeguards took up the job "because chicks dig lifeguards." He would kindly turn down flirts when he's on duty.

Four hours into his shift, he had to switch stations and go down to the beach near where the concert would be taking place to make sure none of the drunk partiers would end up drowning in the damn ocean. As he made his way down the steps, he was passing by some of the changing stalls, reminded of when he snuck into one of them with a woman he hooked up with when he got off the clock and decided to have a bit of quiet but exciting fun. The risk of getting caught added to the thrill, but the close calls made him decide that that would be a one-time thing only.

No, _focus_. _Can't be clouding my head with past flings when I'm needed very much tonight. I'll give myself some "alone time" when I get off the clock._

The heavy bass from Sam B's performance was felt in his chest as he passed the venue by. He glances over at the crowd, seeing how drunk half of them were. He shook his head, never understanding how someone can consider that fun. His sort of fun would be surfing or playing some silly sport with some friends. Sure, a couple of drinks can't hurt, but he'd like to be able to _remember_ his fun.

He got on top of his little lifeguard tower-an uncomfortable chair on top of an elevated platform-with binoculars around his neck and began to keep watch. Quickly he began to loathe the damn light system of the concert. It's making it hard for him to see whether or not someone is actually in the water. People in need don't have a whole lot of time to wait for eyes to adjust. Every second counts.

Once his eyes did adjust, he noticed that nobody within the area he's charged with watching over was in the water or even anywhere near the beach. He could be blessed with drunks who don't care about the ocean. Or the beach for that matter, now that he's seeing people vomit, piss, and litter all over the sand in the back. He's got to watch out for the drug users. They usually get high in their own bungalows, but there are still the few that don't seem to care and just do it at the concert. It's not just that he cares for the well-being of said drug-user, he also cares about who they could hurt on accident while they're tripping. It could be a bad trip and cause them to freak out. He also fears needles being left about in the sand, which could leave anyone, especially children who can't stop putting things in their mouth, susceptible to injury or infection.

The rapping became a booming hum to him as he kept his eye on the crowd. He paid more attention to the back, considering the roadies and bodyguards of Sam B were doing well to uphold some form of order in the front. And not to his surprise, he sees two white boys dealing drugs. One was a dealer, the other was a buyer. If he intervened personally, he would cause a scuffle which would potentially put others in danger.

"Mike", John radioed the head of security.

"Yeah?"

"There's a couple of guys dealing what looks like narcotics in the back of the audience at the venue."

"I'll send someone down."

"Thanks, mate."

Mike was a good guy within security and always tries to get things done, but sometimes the personnel working under him don't always deliver. And that ended up being the situation now. The lifeguard saw no security personnel come down to the concert, nor were any of Sam B's who were in touch with said personnel get radioed to handle the situation. John made a mental note to investigate during his spare time whether or not some of the guards were just as guilty as the dealers and junkies.

With a sigh, he carefully watches the addict shoot himself up to get that desperately-wanted high while the dealer, who was dressed in black, seems to disappear. That bothered him, losing sight of him in a crowd like that. But he couldn't leave his post, either. So it was best to just watch the junkie.

It must have been a bad trip or something, considering he looked sick very quickly. The guy lost color in his face, breathing heavily, then started to vomit. Not much he was really capable of doing since he's doing what a lot of other patrons are doing: sweating and vomiting.

Except there was blood.

John almost literally jumped down when he saw the guy begin to vomit blood, so he quickly got down the ladder and ran over while radioing EMT, "Sinamoi to EMT, we have an addict vomiting blood at the beach venue!"

When the lifeguard touched the man's shoulder and began to speak with him, the man shot up with what was almost like an angry roar. It spooked him a bit because it almost didn't sound human. He radioed again, "Better bring some guards. Seems like a bad trip, could be a danger to others."

"None of the guards are available", said an EMT member.

"Then proceed with caution on this one. He's actin' like a wild beast."

John stayed nearby as the man continued to vomit up blood. He was right to call EMT over because that's quite a bit of blood. When he looked up, he saw five men and a stretcher come down and grab the now thrashing junkie who made more animalistic noises and strapped him down on the gurney. When one EMT started to check his vitals on his neck, the addict managed to bite a nice chunk of flesh off the EMT's arm. He screamed.

The lifeguard started to hurry over to help, but another EMT member told him, "No, we've got this. Go back to your post, you're needed here."

He hesitated before backing off and going back to the lifeguard tower to the not-so-comfy chair. His ass was hurting from that damn thing. He's an active man, not someone who sits around. He almost envied American lifeguards for the chairs they get to have.

With a sigh, he continued watching the crowd until the concert was over. While the partiers were tuckered out from excessive drinking, a couple of brawls, and jumping about, he was exhausted from having to be alert and on the clock since nine in the morning.

Two in the morning. Two in the fucking morning. That's when he was off the clock. That's when he could go back to his bungalow.

Better forget about that quick wank. He was too tired to even take his shoes and uniform off (not that he minded the uniform). He loved his job, but boy did it drain him sometimes.

He sat on his bed, deciding not to remove his shoes, and just laid back and passed out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two: "Help"**

Head Lifeguard of Royal Palms Resort, and he had to babysit a bunch of drunk partygoers. Because security is too busy at the nice, comfy hotel with the usually docile tourists. Because apparently more danger lurked about in a hotel building than in a rowdy crowd at a concert with access to alcohol.

Terrorists. Bah! Who's going to attack Banoi? Nobody, that's who. It's not worth attacking. Those security guards know that full and well and just want easy jobs to support their ego.

Again, Sinamoi had to remind himself that "not all" are like that. Mike's a good guy, but if he keeps firing security left and right, they're going be so understaffed that the whole damn resort would get shut down, and he'd be out of the job as well as many other good people in the area. He started to contemplate whether or not he should speak with the rest of his team about making some of them security guards, instead. A couple of them are big enough to actually qualify on the spot, and hell of a lot more reliable, too.

But for now, he needed the rest from last night. And he started to wake up on his own, wondering what he's hearing.

Ringing. Ringing sound in his ears from that bloody rap concert. He's indifferent to rap, but that volume level; it's no wonder why some people tend to not listen to a word you say when you're trying to help. They're deaf.

John's not deaf, though. Not when he can hear the ringing in his ears.

The lifeguard rubs his eyes, propping himself up on his elbows. His ass still hurts from that stupid chair he can't seem to get the company to allow him to replace. With a sniff, he realized he smelled terrible. He smelled like death or something.

Wait, death? He smelled his underarms and realized that's not the case, though he did need deodorant. Once he sat up he started to look about. Maybe there was a dead rat or something in his bungalow.

"Scott", he groans out for his roommate, who is also a lifeguard, "Scott, what the am I smellin'?" He rubs his face some with a sigh, making a face after smelling that awful stench again. His roommate didn't answer. "Scott? Oiy, Scott! You in here, mate?" Only the ringing of his ears. He sighs once more, figuring Scott's probably out grabbing a bite to eat.

It's ten in the morning and he barely got eight hours of sleep. He feels like absolute shit from a long day at work and then sleeping with his legs off the bed at the knee where he passed out. Not a good way to sleep at all.

With a bit of a stretch, he got out of bed and started to put on deodorant. But he hears the floorboards creek a bit in the front room and someone breathing a bit loudly. "Scott, don't pull my leg, mate. Alright? What's that bloody stench?" He walks out of the bedroom into the front room and sees his roommate just standing there facing the door which was cracked open.

Blood. He saw blood on his roommate's side, like a gash or a chunk of meat was missing. Through the crack of the open door, he saw flashes of blurred colors darting about, and lots of red. Sinamoi froze as the ringing of his ears began to fade when he began to focus on the sound of the commotion outside. All he heard was screaming of all sorts; from people crying out in pain or fear to these animalistic sounds. John feared there is a major animal attack going on, but first, his roommate was possibly traumatized, standing there with such a wound.

Sinamoi takes a few steps forward, "Scott, come here, I'm gonna get you patched up. What's going on?"

He stops when what was supposed to be Scott began to turn around. The roommate's lips were apparently chewed off by his own mouth from viral-driven hunger, so bloodstained teeth were showing. There was no color left to the untouched skin on him. The head lifeguard's eyes widened in horror, "S... Scott?"

Ex-Scott lunges at him with an almost inhuman snarl, reaching out for him. Giving his colleague the benefit of the doubt, John grabs his arms and uses all of his strength to keep him on his feet. He called out to him, but there's no response. What John couldn't figure out was how the hell this lightweight could be so damn strong and almost succeeding in getting him on his knees? Sinamoi's got eight inches on this guy in height, and about maybe twenty or thirty pounds in muscle regarding weight.

"Scott, it's me! John!", he tried hopelessly to reach his friend in an attempt to communicate. He didn't want to hurt him. What if he was just very sick? But when he glances over at the trail of smeared blood on the floor, he saw it leading up to a mostly eaten corpse on the other side of the coffee table. The horror he was seeing just kept getting worse as he progressed through this surreal encounter with his friend. His friend had _eaten_ someone, especially after someone seemed to have taken a chunk out of him.

"Scott!", all he could do was cry out his friend's name, and the word "why" before finally shoving the corpse that was once a good friend away from him. There was one last attempt to try and reason with him, "Scott", he tried not to cry, "Just tell me what's happening. Tell me what's wrong. I want to help you!"

Without warning, Scott threw himself on top of Sinamoi, his jaws snapping at his face as he was held back by struggling, lively hands. John could see the flesh in between his teeth, he could smell the breath of rotten flesh on him.

There was no other choice, now. He shoves Scott off him once more and grabs an oar that hung on the wall and held it defensively, "Scott, I mean it, mate! Don't make me have to do this! I don't wanna hurt you! I can get you some help!" For a second, he hoped someone would hear the word "help", until he realized so many more were screaming a similar word outside those doors.

Just then, he noticed the door was opened a little bit more since the corpse's foot bumped it. He watched someone get run down by someone acting just as Scott was. He then deduced that the person on the ground who is getting a chunk of their arm bitten off needed more help than his long gone friend, now.

He took a breath before mumbling, "I'm sorry, Scott", and gave him a good swing before the corpse went down again, then John burst out through the doors and gave another swing at this random madman biting this woman's arm. He recognized the woman, and had only met her briefly. It was Anne, Jack's friend. Lo and behold, the good doctor wasn't too far away, who was rushing over shouting, "What's going on?!", with such desperation in his voice.

"I don't know, but we have to help these people! We need to get to the hotel, Mike's men have got guns in case we need them!"

"Christ, Sinamoi! We're not killers!"

"No, but these things are!"

Jack helped Anne to her feet. There wasn't as much of a chunk taken from her arm. In fact, it was actually a rag she had on there from a cut she'd received earlier when this whole thing apparently started. It wasn't a very well treated wound, but she was shaken with fear.

"Let's go, I'll cover you!", said Sinamoi.

The trio found another lifeguard (also named Mike) who followed them, and as they made their way to the hotel, they tried helping whoever they could. Unfortunately, all they found were corpses eaten to some extent. John kept his ear out for those behind him that he was trying to protect as they crossed the road, sirens blaring in the distance, sirens nearby blipping, more screams and ungodly noises that sounded like demonic bellows from the abyss. A runner-freshly infected-dashed at them, but Sinamoi was quick to react, whacking the runner with the paddle, then digging it into its throat, severing the head. It won't be running again. He had to, he told himself in his mind. He had to. Or else who he's trying to protect can be killed. And he didn't want to kill anybody.

They were about to turn a corner around one of the dividers to get closer to the main entrance of the hotel, Sinamoi going first to make sure the coast was clear, but he stopped. The small group behind him stopped in case of danger.

What he saw was something that caused a horrible pit to form in his stomach while it did flip-flops.

In the bloody grass was the three year old boy from days before, being torn apart alive by his parents who have also somehow turned into one of those things.

There was no saving this boy. Not with his organs strewn about the place.

The boy's undead parents were preoccupied with the cannibalistic feasting, so he took advantage of that by not progressive further and just turned around, white as a ghost.

"John?", Mike asked.

Sinamoi quickly shook his head and immediately told them, "Go. The other way. Just go. Go."

A thought was shared silently and without words among them. They couldn't believe just how easily these things could tear somebody apart and just eat without remorse. And the guilty thought they all shared was, "If we don't draw too much attention, we'll be fine." Though Sinamoi tried hard to keep an eye out for someone that has hope of living should he attempt to save them.

And those people who managed to survive and not get torn apart were very few. But they tried to get into the hotel the other way. When they succeeded, they met up with James and his group. They tried fighting their way to the security room, but only found that most of the hotel was overrun, and the elevator was broken.

Four survivors came out of that hotel from that broken elevator, hungover and/or badly disoriented by the crash. Everyone else was a walking, flesh-eating corpse.

They were all bitten, and badly. Their rough crash on the elevator nearly knocked the daylights out of them, and Sinamoi immediately tried to treat them, but they had to split soon. James and his group headed for the lighthouse after failing to get Sinamoi to bring his group along. With all of the wounded, it was logical to try and get them to the Lifeguard Tower where there were medical supplies aplenty to help them out. But Jack wasn't thrilled about this, claiming he saw people get bitten and end up turning into these things. His word was backed by other survivors in the group, but the head lifeguard refused to leave anyone behind that might be able to make it.

His group helped carry along the barely conscious and hungover survivors, save for Xian who helped carry Purna. Sinamoi did the bulk of brain-splatters with his deteriorating paddle. Mike had a pipe on him and started to help him out some.

But once they've reached a beach house, they started getting bum-rushed by a small group of zombies.

Then the word rang in his mind: _Zombies. These bloody things are zombies!_ He remembers some of his friends in the past showing him some horror flicks around the American Halloween, some of them dealing with zombies, and the general rule was to go after the head. And so far, that's been working.

"I'll take care of these things, you get the wounded inside!"

A couple of people protested against that until the rest of the group began to hurry into the shack. Mike saw him fighting with a broken paddle, trying to get to a knife he had on him, and he shouted, "Sinamoi!"

He looks to his friend who tossed him the pipe, and that's what he started to use now. The lifeguard wrestled with the walking dead, cracking skulls when he could. This was a much better weapon, except now all eyes were on him. Now it was he who needed help.


End file.
